Surrendering a Broken Promise
by Lusaun
Summary: The time and place of Italy's surrender on September of 1943. It was a time of betrayal, and pain. For North Italy, it was the most difficult on him, to suddenly have this promise that he ad Germany had made suddenly broken. An angst filled story of my own portrayal on how this played out. Rated T for violence, and some foul language.


Surrendering a Broken Promise

**September 3****rd****, 1943**.

At this time, King Victor Emmanuel has met with Allied forces to discuss an armistice and surrender. The negotiations had been made, though it has not been publicly announced that Italy has surrendered.

"This is the best decision for the country, Italy. You know it is." Truer words had never been spoken at this time. Romano kept his head down, though it was easy to tell he had heard their new King. Veneziano was the one who seemed the most unsure about this whole thing. Maybe not because he didn't agree, but...

"Most of the German forces are in Northern Italy," the younger points out quietly, though it was a statement they were all aware of. King Emmanuel gives a nod to show this.

"I'm well aware, Veneziano. And... I need you to keep quiet about it with Germany," he suddenly adds in, amber eyes widening at him.

"S-Sir, I don't think I-!" the Northern Italian protested, but was then cut off.

"You _have_ to. It won't be too long... The Allied forces will be entering the mainland from the South, and will march upwards. We will not make our secret armistice public yet... For now... We play the game," the leader went on, giving them both serious looks. "...I'm depending on you both to keep a vow of silence until I make it public. Romano. You will see to it that the Allies should get in without much opposition... It will not be perfect, I'm aware, but do what you can." The Southern personification gives a firm nod when he hears this.

"Yes, Sir. I'll do what I can," he answers. Next, the new leader looks to the still clearly frightened Northern one.

"As for you... For now, a vow of silence. I do not know what will happen after word gets out... I need you to prepare yourself for whatever comes when it is announced. The Germans will not be friendly about this... You must be careful," he went on, a sympathetic kind of glance given towards him. He knew that it would be difficult for the other, given his close bond with their once allies, especially to Germany... But he had to be strong. "This is the best option for our country right now. We have to end this..."

"Y-Yes, Sir... I know..." came the younger's quiet voice, his head down. Tears were stinging his eyes, a few managing to slip past. This was it...

**September 8****th****, 1943**

The armistice has been made public. At this point in time, Allied forces have begun to invade in from the Southern part of Italy. When word was heard, German soldiers immediately disarmed all Italian soldiers. They were all questioned whether they were loyal to them, and Mussolini, who the Germans had saved, or if they were loyal to the King. About 90% of soldiers claimed they were loyal to the King, and were thrown into slave labor camps as POWs. The remaining 10% were fascists and continued to fight alongside Germany.

The announcement had been made. The Allies were already beginning to move in from the South. And as soon as word had been heard, the Germans had begun to disarm all the Italian soldiers. However, the timing had not been North Italy's favorite. He tensed almost immediately when he heard the door to his house slam open, knowing exactly who it would be. This was it. The moment that he had dreaded. He kept his mouth shut, his heart pounding in his chest, as he tried to take slow breaths, trying to calm down. But there was no way he could. Not in this situation.

Then, the last door into his room was thrown open next, and there stood Germany, anger clear in his cold blue eyes.

"...You've heard," the Italian comments softly, taking a huge risk in having said that. But he felt he had to say _something_. But. Maybe not that. The blond took a few steps forward, casing the copper haired one to cringe back almost immediately, before he was grabbed roughly. A small squeak escaped him, terrified of what was about to come, before he was shoved against the wall. A hand was pressed against his chest to pin him back, while another had managed to take hold of both hands and keep them behind his back against the wall.

"...I will only ask this once," the German told him bluntly, not letting up in his restraint. If anything, he gave a squeeze to his captive's wrists as if to warn him to make the correct decision in this. Steely blue eyes stared into those of amber, as he spoke. "...Are you loyal to me... Or are you truly surrendering?" The captured nation was quiet a long time, seeming to only be able to hear his own pounding heart. He knew if he dared to break eye contact with the other personified country, it would make matters worse. But not more than what he was about to say.

The Northern Italian took a deep, shaky breath, as he looked to Germany, trying to regain some kind of composure. Maybe he was trying to put up a front that he wasn't scared for his life at this point. He had a duty to do. He was expected to carry it out.

"...Italy has surrendered. We are no longer fighting along the Axis Powers..." he points out, his voice as quiet, but it was firm. And while firm, there was an edge of nervousness. He was confident that this was what he was going to say... But uncertain about how the other would really react. Suddenly, the hand restraining his wrists moved. And that hand went back, smacking across the Italian's face. The slap had hurt, and it left a painful sting. He was sure that there was a red hand print on his skin. "...Was that meant to change my mind?"

"More like bring you to reality. You're either delusional or foolish. I figured I could smack it out of you, whichever it was. Should I do it again?" Germany questions, giving a glare down at the smaller male. In response, Italy clears his throat a bit, tears pricking at his eyes. This wasn't what he had wanted... To be in this situation where someone who had been his best friend was now turning on him. He then shakes his head in response to the blond's questions.

"Good. So you've come to your senses then."

"No. My answer... S-Still stands. I'm... I'm not continuing this with you!" the Northern Italian then yells out, as the tears started to fall. He had tried so hard to keep them back, but he couldn't. "I am done with this war, done with it all! Y-You can say whatever you want about it... But the answer still stands!" There was a moment of silence between them both. The only thing that tore through that was the captive's shaky deep, shaky breaths, and the small, quiet sobs between those. Not a sound came from the German personification. They stared each other down, neither one daring to blink or revert their gazes.

Finally, it was the blond who broke it, though not in a kind way by any means. He grabbed hold of the Italian's shirt, eliciting a fearful whimper from the other, before throwing him aside on the ground. The brown-haired male hit the flood hard, managing to painfully move from the side he landed on, on to his back, just in time to see the other move towards him once more. A foot suddenly pressed forcefully against the smaller man's stomach, keeping him laying on the ground, while the blond spoke.

"I should have expected such an answer from you... Just as most of your country, you're nothing more than a pathetic, cowardice, traitor. I knew how stupid you were... But I didn't believe you would make such a foolish decision," he growls darkly, pressing his foot down just a bit more. A gasp came from the Italian, as he tried to move away, or at least get the foot off of him, to no avail. So, he clenched his fists and tried to bear it. However, seeing the other struggle, Germany instead moved his foot a moment to land a swift and harsh kick to his side, receiving a yelp from the pain, before placing his foot down on him once more.

"Well... If you wish to be a traitor... you can be treated like all the rest of your pathetic soldiers. You will be as much of a prisoner of war as the rest of them. It's the only thing you deserve at this point."

"G-Germany, no... P-Per favore, I-...!" Italy tried to protest, only to be kicked once more, before he was forced to stand again. He was then spun around, some binding being tried around his wrists. A gag then tied around his mouth to muffle his yelling of protest and cries.

**Northern Italy had been turned into a Fascist State, known as **_**Repubblica Sociale Italiana, **_**the RSI, or otherwise known as the Italian Social Republic, as done by Mussolini. As time went on, the Allies already had most control of Southern Italy. **

"You've been brainwashed by that stupid King Victor, Italy... Clearly two months is just too long until you start trying to change your views," the fascist leader comment, as he looked to the Northern Italian with a chuckle. He went over, running a hand through the other's auburn hair, taking hold of the locks rather roughly. "...I would suggest you stop this foolishness. You will continue to help Germany, or you will be locked up."

North Italy looked up, his expression practically emotionless at this point. His smile had been erased a while ago, and a blank stare came into his amber eyes. It was so unlike the normally chipper Italian. To be seemingly so lifeless, cold, and just... almost dead while living.

"You're the one in control. I don't have to agree. Just know you will be stopped by the end of this," came the Italian's monotone response. It was almost as if he just didn't care. It wasn't that he didn't care for his people, and didn't care about ending this war. It was the opposite. But... he didn't have control of anything here. He was only the personification. A small growl came from him, as he practically shoved the Italian back where he sat in his chair. There was barely a reaction from the other. In his mind, he had already surrendered, given Italy had, in fact, done so. He was numb to the whole situation. But to this person, while he was in Northern Italy, that wasn't an option.

"You act so pathetic... A sorry excuse of a personified country, if you ask me. We'll just see how you feel later on then."

**May 2****nd**** 1945**

German forces that remained in North Italy had finally surrendered, six days before Germany's complete surrender. It was the final Allied victory in Italy over the Axis. Mussolini was killed April 28th, 1945, by the Italian Resistance, just a few days before the surrender.

"It's over, Germany! Release North Italy at once!" England yelled out, as the war was raging on. It had seemed endless, trying to even reach this point... But this had to be close to the end. South Italy was just behind him, and was able to see his younger brother, currently being held captive, practically, while all the soldiers continued to fight. The Northern Italian practically looked defeated at this point, weak, tired, and just seemed to want it all to be over. He hardly even reacted when a blade was brought so close to his heart, as if threatening to stab into it right then. It was possible maybe he thought that was a better solution at this point, if it meant he didn't have to be part of it anymore.

"Mussolini was killed by the Italian people! We all want your sorry ass out of here, you have no one to back you up here any longer! Give him up, NOW!" the Southern Italian yelled out, tightening his hold on his gun. The fight was continuing on, but it was clear that an answer was still being debated upon. Finally, there were a few German words spoken, and the soldiers stopped fighting. After a moment, they dropped their weapons, lifting their hands. They knew when they were defeated... Germany then lowered his head, pulling his arm away from the Italian captive he held,watching him crumple to the ground to his knees, coughing a bit. North Italy lifted his head, finally, the smallest bit of emotion coming to his amber eyes, and steadily grew. Realization seemed to have hit him when he was released. It was over. At least here it was. He looked to his once best friend, taking a few deep breaths, before he quickly stood up. Fear was clear in his eyes now, hurt, and conflicted emotions also evident. He was shaking but finally, he looked to where the Allies stood, and caught sight of his brother. Tears streamed down his face, as he forced himself to run over, though he did stumble. He practically fell into his older sibling's arms, hugging him tightly, as he buried his face into his chest, sobbing. He was glad when he felt a familiar pair of arms wrap just as tightly around him, holding him close.

"I'm right here, Fratellino... I'm right here..." the Southern personification murmured quietly. At least for them... It was finally over, in their country.


End file.
